


As long as it's you

by hellhoundsprey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Bruises, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's hand slips - Sam's reaction takes him by surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As long as it's you

He was thirteen when he climbed back into his brother's bed. Dean wouldn't complain. Ever. Of course not. Why would he? This close, heavy warmth against his own - it felt right. It _was_ right. It was safety. It was Sam. 

"Thought that big boys sleep in their own beds." Low whisper to not wake up Dad. None of his business. Just theirs. His arm wrapped around the tiny back, thankful for it taking its place after all this time. Sam was shamelessly sprawled across his brother. Clingy like a little monkey. Like nothing had ever changed.

It had literally been Sam's words three years ago. He was ten now. A man. Not a baby. Only babies slept with their big brothers in one bed. Only babies were afraid to sleep alone. He wasn't a baby. Not anymore. 

Dean had accepted it. No other choice there, really. Yes, he was sad. Yes, he didn't want to let go of his baby brother, not an inch. Yes, maybe he was the one of them who was in bigger need of the comfort. But maybe, maybe it was time to grow up. A bit. A little bit. Just a tiny bit. 

Sam had killed for the first time, three days earlier, then. A werewolf in Santa Monica. Dad had been so proud. Dean had been so sick. 

"Shut up." Annoyed and teenage-y groaning against his chest. Dean chuckled. The spot between Sam's shoulder blades were his fingers' favorite to stroke. Yes. He had missed this. 

\--- 

"You little shit!" Another day, another "I'll be back in a few" - "Yessir", another fight. Dean's head was boiling red as he wrestled with Sam for whatever he was hunching over in protection. "Give it back!" 

Sam just laughed breathlessly, head equally flushed from exertion. The kid was tough, like their four year age gap didn't mean jack to his physical power. "Awww, Deany-Weany wants his _love letter_ back? From his precious _girlfriend_?" He stretched the word "girlfriend" only a teenager could. 

"YES, for fuck's sake; now GIMME!" He yanked and pilled at Sam's arms that clutched the precious papers tight to his chest. But his brother wouldn't budge and laughed, actually _laughed_ at his efforts. Dean would have loved to smash him into the ground face-first at that - if that hadn't been his exact position already. "Sam, I'm WARNING you…!!" 

"Or WHAT?!" the boy barked, hoarse from laughter and his exhausting position. For God's sake. Could the kid be any more provoking? 

Dean's teeth gritted in frustration, hard, and the next second he just snapped. Didn't think, didn't even really see. But the sound of his hand smacking with all its force down on Sam's ass was so sharp it made his ears ring. 

Before processing what just had happened and that Sam's laughter (or any sound from him, really) had died down after one painful cry, Dean pressed his lips together tight and smacked down another time, and another, and another, merciless, fast. Sam's body jolted and jumped with every hit but Dean held him down by his shoulder. 

The echo of his brother's sobs and the vulgar sounds of hand-on-ass were still bright and clear when he had finally stopped (after far too many "another's"), eyes wild, head empty, breath heavy. Panting through his opened mouth, he stared down on his brother, his palm hovering where it had hit. It glowed in an angry red. 

Dean knew what burning skin felt like. But this felt better than gripping a boiling iron bar. Dean knew what painful sobs sounded like. But Sam sounded better than Bobby that one time this possessed guy had broken his leg. 

Sam was frozen in his position, on his shins, knees, shoulders, face; pressed down by Dean's left hand, not moving an inch. Besides not-so subtle shaking. Silent as a grave. Besides voiceless, thin gasps for air. 

Hand - butt - hand - butt. Dean's eyes flickered back and forth. His mouth snapped closed. It felt surprisingly dry. 

"Or _this_ ," he croaked. 

\--- 

Sam took forever in the bathroom. So long that Dean was heavily tempted to ask if he was jerking off in there. But the door was wide open as usual. He would have heard it. If. Or Sam would have locked the door in the first place. If. Like he had learned from his big brother. 

Arms crossed behind his head, Dean lay on the crappy mattress they shared and stared at the ceiling. He had run out of things to keep his mind blank. Salt lines double-checked, all guns cleaned and loaded and secured, knives sharpened, exorcisms and spells repeated, book about Voodoo finished and put aside for Sam. _Sam_. 

His palm ached. He ignored it. 

Bare feet on cheap linoleum floor and flipping of a light switch were the only sounds in the room. Dean's heart felt like it was stumbling instead of beating steadily. He didn't look down from the safe ceiling until Sam spoke to him the first time since earlier, with a voice way too soft for his expanding body. More like one a child would have. 

"Hey. Look." 

And Dean looked, straight into Sam's face. Well, into what was visible through thick bangs of brown hair. Their eyes managed to lock anyway. Always did. Dean's jaw was tight. He had no idea what to say. 

Sam slowly turned around on his feet, covered in one of Dean's old, handed-down t-shirts and loose cotton boxers. His bony fingers turned the act of pulling up the thin fabric over his right ass cheek into pure art. 

Dean held his breath at the sight of burning red skin. In the dim light of the lamp on the night stand he could swear he could make out his own fingers' outlines on his brother's skin. 

There was nothing to say. Dean reached out until his fingers touched where they had hit earlier, light as a feather now. Sam flinched but didn't pull away. So, Dean ran his fingertips over the abused skin, swollen and bumpy where it was worst. Pitiful. 

"You think it'll bruise?" 

The tone in Sam's voice was half worry and half hope, and it hit Dean unprepared. His eyes darted up to his brother's pink neck. Fuck. 

"… Maybe." 

Dean sat up on the edge of the bed, head empty, so empty. And Sam didn't pull away. His fingers spread until the whole cheek was covered. Warm, pulsing skin on skin. _And Sam didn't pull away_. Just stood there, clean and warm and pink all over, relaxed against his brother's hands on his ass and hip. Like this was natural. Like this was how it was supposed to be, like _they_ were supposed to be. Dean glanced up at him, unseen, lips and chest tight. 

A quick but sharp slap, immediately mixed with a surprised squeak. Dean started to like the sound. 

"You want it to?" 

The part of his brain that usually got him into girls' underwear held his voice down slow and low. He kept staring at Sam's neck, blushing a deeper pink now. He waited for an answer. Needed an answer. After a couple of moments his palm got too impatient and slammed down once more. Sam's butt jiggled. Fucking _jiggled_. 

"Ye-yes." 

Sam whined and usually Dean hated the sound, like Sam's voice was only allowed to be happy and carefree (or even sassy, for God's sake), but never in pain or anger or sadness. But fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. 

One, two, three, four, five fast spanks on the right cheek, a short adorable jiggle on each hit, choking cries, troubled to keep up with the pace. In one quick motion, Dean pulled up the boxer's other leg before his left hand placed another five right there. 

He hadn't realized that he was chewing on his bottom lip until it popped out of his mouth with a quiet "Fuck". Both his palms spread wide over the poor flesh his brother lived in, like they and his eyes were admiring Dean's work together. Sam pressed back against them, panting quietly, fingers clutching the front of his boxer's legs. 

Dean's head was so empty, it was near spinning. 

"… Want it to bruise _real_ bad, Sammy?" 

"Yes." 

The answer came too immediately, too strangled, throaty, hushed. Too perfect. Dean first bit his bottom lip once more, and then, accompanied by a straight-down moan and flinch from Sam, his brother's right ass cheek. Like a dog he bit down and didn't let go, lips closing around the plump flesh and sucking hard. 

Bruises, hickeys. He was an expert. Girls loved it. Always asked him to do it so they'd have a less temporary souvenir from him than the faint smell and taste of his cock. Dean knew how to make these last for a whole week. Easily. And if Sam wanted it to bruise, he'd bruise it all right. 

Sam hissed each time Dean went for a new spot. It must be hurting like hell, Dean thought, but he wasn't told to stop. So he didn't. 

Pulling back from the last spot, a thin thread of spit connected them for a second or two longer. It broke when Dean licked his lips in awe. Perfect. Four purple circles, outlines blurry and dashed from where his teeth had dug in, spread across gorgeous teenage boy ass. One for every year they had been born apart. For every year that lay between the two of them. 

Dean's thumbs softly stroked over his completed work, from near the crack outwards, spreading them a bit. Sam started to develop hair there, he noticed. Adorable, he thought. 

"This good'nough for ya?" 

Like he was being awaken from a sweet slumber, Sam clumsily pushed away from Dean's hands and pulled his boxers in place again. He didn't turn to look at his brother. His voice wasn't louder than a whisper. 

"I wanna look." 

Dean's eyes followed the slender body until the bathroom door closed behind it. The sound of the lock clicking shut was awkwardly loud in his ears. 

This night, Dean rubbed himself softly through his sweatpants while listening to his brother's muffled sounds from the bathroom. He didn't allow himself to come though, so that when Sam slipped into bed next to him a few minutes later, he cold spoon him from behind and press his swollen cock right against where his hands and mouth had been earlier. And Sam didn't pull away. 

This night, Dean fell asleep to the thought of "mine, mine, mine".


End file.
